


with metal on our tongues

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Series: persona rarepair week 2020 [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: in which Sae is a vigilante in need of medical attention and Ohya is a journalist in need of a story
Relationships: Niijima Sae/Ohya Ichiko
Series: persona rarepair week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026348
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	with metal on our tongues

**Author's Note:**

> written (belatedly) for Persona Rarepair Week 2020 (prompt: hurt/comfort)
> 
> contains: brief discussions of alcoholism and financial insecurity, non-graphic and extremely unrealistic depiction of a gunshot wound and the patching up thereof, references to assumed deaths of various characters who are not major in this fic

It was an hour until dawn, and Ohya set her camera down and shoved her numb hands into her pockets, trying to bring some feeling back into her stiff fingers. She’d worn fingerless gloves partially so that it would be easier to operate her camera, but that wouldn’t mean anything if she got frostbite instead. Of course, the other reason she wore fingerless gloves was because every pair of gloves she owned had holes in the fingertips anyway, so she might as well wear the ones where that was intentional, where she could pretend it was a practical and stylish decision instead of a result of her inability to hold a steady job.

The masked vigilante had been sighted in this neighborhood every night for the past week, according to social media rumors, but somehow Ohya had missed her every time. Her current boss was running out of patience with her lack of actual results, no matter how many times she insisted there was a story there, and unless she had something to show for this week of freezing stakeouts, she’d be out of a job and it wouldn’t take long for her landlord to lose patience with her lack of a paycheck.

They called her the Lady Judgment, and no one had ever knowingly seen her without her mask. Ohya didn’t particularly want to unmask her either, though she had to admit that depending on her identity, it might get her the front page headline she needed. But no, all Ohya really wanted was a decent-quality action shot. Something more than the blurry, potentially fabricated pictures that were floating around social media, something to prove that she was real, that she was stepping in to protect people and punish those who preyed on them—she made a mental note to remember that bit of alliteration just in case she got to write this article—where the authorities were failing, or even causing the problems in the first place. She had to be careful not to lean too hard on that particular angle, or else her editor would say her piece was too political. As if anything about crime journalism wasn’t.

She needed these pictures. She needed the proof. But she also needed to be able to feel her fingers, and she needed to leave her perch in the next fifteen minutes if she wanted to make it to her favorite dive bar before it closed for the night, and if the Lady didn’t show up soon she was going to give up and go get a nice hot toddy and some sympathy from Lala about her imminent unemployment. She half-wished she’d brought her flask, but she didn’t want her lips to get stuck to the cold metal, and more importantly, she was trying to be better about not drinking on the job. She was trying to be better about drinking less in general, but with how much of a disaster her life was these days she’d take whatever progress she could get. To be fair, her life had been a bit of a disaster for a while now, maybe always had been, but recently, between losing Kayo and getting blacklisted from any respectable paper, she’d been struggling more than usual. And the mood of the city wasn’t helping. Everyone was struggling, and they were scared, and the leaders who were meant to be helping them were making the situation worth for their own gain, and Ohya was freezing her ass off chasing a rumor because it was a step closer to dignified than camping out on some idol’s doorstep. Made her feel a little less scummy, even though it was making her less money. That would change, though, if she could just find Lady Judgment.

One of her contacts—she still phrased it like that, to sound a little more professional even though it was just a university ex who could still stand to be in her presence for long enough to exchange information—had told her that something was going down tonight, something that would “probably be the Lady’s kind of thing.” Unfortunately, her contact had not elaborated on that at all, so Ohya wasn’t sure what kind of scale or stakes she should be expecting. Given what she knew of the Lady Judgment’s standard operating procedure, which wasn’t much, it could be anything from telling off neighborhood bullies to talking down desperate burglars to preventing an unjust arrest to a full-on organized crime brawl.

She had just decided that she was giving the Lady another ten minutes to show up before she left when she heard the first gunshot. And then, before she could tell where they were coming from, if it would be safe for her to climb down from this rooftop—she was technically trespassing, but it was worth it if it got her a story and she didn’t think it was the kind of wrongdoing that the Lady Judgment cared too much about—or if she was better off staying safely out of sight, there was a second gunshot, and then a third, echoing through the still, cold night. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were but she knew that they were far too close for comfort, and she clutched her camera tighter, weighing how likely it was to stop a bullet against how much it would cost to replace.

She waited, listening for more shots, but there was only silence, and slowly she began to uncurl her aching body, her knees stiff from the chill of the night, and started down the maintenance access stairwell of the abandoned building she’d picked for her stakeout. Now that the danger seemed to have passed, and her heart was no longer beating frantically out of her chest, she wanted to find out what had happened. Even if it wasn’t the Lady Judgment, surely she could get some kind of story out of this.  _ And more importantly _ , chided a voice from a small corner at the back of her mind that she tried not to listen to, a voice that sounded like Kayo,  _ there could be people who are injured and need help, and you can help them _ .

She’d made it halfway around the block to where she thought the gunshots had been coming from when she turned a corner and ran into someone, literally ran into them, and they bounced off her and stumbled into the wall, holding their shoulder. Her first thought was to make sure they hadn’t accidentally broken her camera, and then she looked closer at them, this tall figure dimly lit by the pale glow of a nearby streetlight, and saw what they were wearing: the long leather coat with a hood, like someone who thought they were in a cyberpunk movie, the tight-fitting black sportswear underneath, and most importantly, the oval theatre mask with its elaborate painted-on features that covered the entirety of this person’s face. Ohya knew that mask, had studied enough poor-quality photographs to recognize that shape and those patterns and this outfit anywhere.

“Lady Judgment?” she said, and the vigilante grunted. “Are you… good?”

“I was just shot at,” said the Lady Judgment. “I’ve been better.” Ohya supposed that was fair. She certainly looked like she’d seen better days, leaning against the wall like her legs would crumple without its support, and as Ohya looked more closely she saw blood seeping between her gloved fingers where she clutched at her wounded shoulder. As Ohya watched, she began to sway, the wall not enough to hold her up anymore, and Ohya wondered if she had more injuries hidden under her coat. She’d heard three shots, after all. And then she started falling toward Ohya, and Ohya caught her, ungracefully, with a soft  _ oof _ as all of this apparently rather muscular woman’s weight leaned into her, her uninjured arm slung across Ohya’s shoulders.

“I’ve got you, darling,” said Ohya, which she wouldn’t find comforting if she knew Ohya at all, but it seemed like the thing to say. And then, remembering those three gunshots: “Is anyone chasing after you or anything?”

“No,” said the Lady. “I tied them up myself. They won’t be moving for a long time.”

She swayed a little bit more, and Ohya wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her on her feet. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not buff enough for this. Didn’t realize I should’ve been hitting the weights if I wanted to be a reporter.”

“Just… set me down here,” said the Lady. “I’ll manage.” And then, horror in her voice as she tried weakly to pull away from Ohya, she said, “You’re a reporter?” She said it like a curse, and for someone whose entire reputation hinged on her anonymity, it probably was. Ohya had been used to getting that kind of reaction, even before she started working for notorious unscrupulous tabloids, becoming the kind of reporter who didn’t even deserve to call herself a journalist.

“Yeah, sometimes,” said Ohya. “And you’re bleeding out.”

“I’ll manage,” she said again, through gritted teeth.

“Sure, of course you will,” said Ohya, starting to half-walk, half-drag her until they reached an alleyway where they’d be out of sight in case of any stray pedestrians who might see one woman treated another’s gunshot wound and call the cops about it. Some people just didn’t know how to mind their own business. Arguably she was one of those people, but in a very different way. “You got bandages or anything? I got some pads in my purse if not but you might need something a little more professional for a gunshot.”

She released her shoulder briefly, reaching toward her pockets, before wincing and returning to her previous position. “Bottom left inside pocket,” she grunted, and Ohya rummaged through the indicated pocket and found a roll of bandages and a small first aid kit. She wondered, for the first time, if this sort of thing was common for her, if she was used to patching herself up alone in dark alleyways, and she felt a pang of sympathy, of recognition, that this urban legend of a vigilante was just a lonely woman like her, trying to make her corner of this fucked up world a little less of a mess.

Part of her wanted to take her home and clean her wounds in the relative safety and cleanliness of her apartment, but she wasn’t sure they would make it that far. Definitely not if they walked, and she couldn’t take her on the train with that mask, but she doubted she wanted her real face seen. Maybe Ohya could offer her the flu mask and oversized sunglasses she kept in her purse, to keep her face hidden, but maybe it really was better, even with her hygiene concerns about this alley, to stop her bleeding before trying to get her to go anywhere.

“I’m gonna take off your coat now, alright?” she said, and Lady Judgment nodded, slowly and deliberately taking her hand away from her injury so that Ohya could help her slide her hurt arm out of the sleeve. She whistled, low and impressed, when she saw the damage: less of a mess than she would’ve expected, despite how much pain she was in, but then again what did Ohya really know about gunshot wounds anyway? It looked like the bullet had just grazed her, though it had still taken a chunk of flesh from her shoulder along the way. Still. Ohya might not know gunshots but she had enough experience with DIY first aid after some wild nights in university and risks she’d taken for stories to know that she wasn’t in immediate danger of bleeding out, and that this would be simple enough to clean and bandage, even with her fingers stiff from cold, unless it got infected.

“Okay,” she said, mostly talking to herself. “Alright, you can do this. You know how to do this. Remember when Kayo tried to climb over that barbed wire fence and you had to patch up the holes in her hands? This is nothing.” Lady Judgment didn’t cry out the way Kayo had when Ohya applied the disinfectant, or when she pressed layers of gauze into the wound and wrapped the bandage tightly around her upper arm.

She began to move her shoulder experimentally, poking at the bandages, apparently satisfied with the job Ohya had done, because she nodded and said, “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“Nah, you’re good,” said Ohya’s mouth before her brain caught up with what she’d been offered, and she said, quickly, “Although actually, since you’re offering, how do you feel about giving me an interview?”

“...Okay,” she said warily. She still hadn’t removed her mask, but they were close enough that Ohya could see her eyes through the holes in the mask. Her eyes were dark in the shadows, and rimmed with a thick line of eyeshadow. She’d let her hood down, though, and though her voice sounded young, around Ohya’s age, maybe a year or two younger if she had to guess, her carefully braided hair was streaked through with silver that gleamed in the moonlight. “What do you want to know?”

“Right now?” Ohya looked around at their surroundings, flexing her frozen fingers. Her back was going to be killing her tomorrow if she sat on the hard asphalt any longer.

“Why not?” she said. “Easier than arranging another time and place to meet, and I need to rest before heading home anyway.”

“Yeah, you know what, sure,” Ohya said, fishing her phone out of the inner pocket of her coat and opening her recording app. “Why the hell not. Okay, let’s do this. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want,” she said, “and if you say it’s off the record then it’s off the record, but you gotta say so first, alright?”

“Alright,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“Cool,” Ohya said. “So. Wanna tell me anything about what happened tonight?”

“It was a setup,” she said. “A bunch of off-duty cops ambushed me. Seems as though they disagree with my interpretation of justice. Not like they would know what justice meant,” she added bitterly.

“And you escaped by…”

“I’m very good at kickboxing,” she said, with a note of pride in her voice. “I incapacitated them, tied them up, and stole their IDs.” She produced these from one of her many pockets and Ohya took a picture. It would be useful to corroborate her story, since her editor would probably accuse her of making this whole thing up, but someone else would’ve heard about the five tied up cops, even if official channels tried to keep it quiet.

“Damn,” Ohya said. “Nice job. Must have some pretty impressive muscles.”

“Oh,” the Lady said. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, darling,” said Ohya. “Now we’re gonna get a little more personal, okay? Anything you want to tell me about why you’re doing, you know, this whole thing you do? Gotta be safer ways to get your martial arts practice in.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well. None quite as satisfying.” She turned her head away then, and Ohya desperately wanted to see the expression on her face. “I used to be an attorney,” she said, quietly. “A prosecutor. Obviously I can’t be too specific, or else you’ll be able to find out who I was, but I was-” she gave a shrug, trying to be humble but clearly still proud of who she’d been, maybe even despite herself “-rather good at my job, and I used to think I was doing the right thing, making the world a safer, juster place.”

She fell silent, apparently lost in thought, and Ohya said, “What changed?”

“I did,” she said simply. “I lost sight of what was important, what used to matter to me. I let myself be convinced that I had to do whatever was asked of me to keep my career, and I convinced myself that if I wanted to advance my career I had to go further, be the best- the worst of any of them. Again, I can’t give you specifics, and besides, I read the news. I know that most of the people I knew about have either been arrested for their part or died under mysterious circumstances, so any names I could give you would not be particularly useful.”

“Gotcha,” said Ohya. “So, what kind of corruption are we talking?”

“Oh, the usual,” she said. “Bribes, tampering with evidence, double standards for powerful important people. Threats and blackmail and framing innocent people.” She sighed. “The only name I could give you, the only person who hasn’t faced any consequences despite sitting at the center of this awful web, is far too dangerous a person to accuse.”

Ohya, who already had her own suspicions about this woman’s identity, as well as the identity of this mysterious dangerous mastermind, nodded. “I know how that goes.” And then, because something about this woman put her at ease, reminded her of herself and Kayo at their best and brightest and most idealistic, and because sharing something personal of her own might make this woman comfortable enough to keep talking about herself, she said, “I had… a friend. A partner. She was a journalist, too. She was always better than me, and I know what you’re thinking, that’s not exactly hard but I was better back then too. And then we broke a story, made ourselves the enemies of a very powerful man. She disappeared, and I haven’t really been the same ever since. So I might not know exactly what happened with you, but I get it.” She was even pretty sure it was the same man who’d ruined both of their lives, but that was more of a second date kind of question.

“I’m sorry,” said the Lady.

“Yeah, well,” Ohya said. “That’s the way it is. But enough about me.”

“Right,” she said. “Of course. Where was I?”

“Talking about why you left your job,” Ohya prompted, “and the corruption you were part of before you left.”

“Yes, well,” she said, “that was only part of it. I knew what was happening was wrong, but I’m not sure how long I would’ve been able to keep ignoring my conscience if it wasn’t for, well, I’m sure you heard about the Phantom Thieves?”

“Who didn’t?” said Ohya.

“Of course,” she said. “Well, I was… involved in that case. They were just kids, did you know that? Or at least the leader was. Just kids, trying to fix the world that people like me fucked up.” She shook her head. “He didn’t deserve anything that they- that  _ we _ did to him. And he was right. Our society is broken, at the highest level, and working within the system doesn’t change anything.”

“So it was the death of the leader of the Phantom Thieves that inspired you to turn vigilante?”

“Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t just do nothing, not after that. But it’s also… can I say something off the record?”

“Absolutely,” said Ohya, pressing pause on her recording, simultaneously disappointed and thrilled. Whatever this anonymous woman was about to tell her so seriously probably deserved to be in her story, but knowing the truth, even if she couldn’t write about it, was still an exciting prospect. “I’m not recording right now, go right ahead.”

“I…” She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself to say something unpleasant.

“Take your time, darling,” said Ohya. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The Lady nodded, and then said, quietly, “He’s not the only one. I never knew all of their identities, not for sure. He wouldn’t give any of them up. But he told me enough to piece some things together, and I had some suspicions already, and then they both disappeared right after. There was a kid I worked with, and I should’ve noticed that something was wrong, I  _ did _ notice but I ignored it, and it’s not like he had anyone else to protect him, so it should’ve been me.” And oh, Ohya was even more sure she knew who this woman was, after that. There were only so many kids who worked closely with the prosecutors’ office, only so many women who’d ever been in a position of any importance there. She wished any of this was on the record—a new lead on the disappearance of the Detective Prince would have been headline-worthy on its own—but after Kayo, she couldn’t really blame anyone for who wanted to keep their name, or the names of people they cared about, out of print. Even if it made her job more difficult.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I should’ve been paying more attention,” she said, “but I was so busy, so focused. I didn’t even notice that my own sister was part of… She’s the other reason for this. I have- I  _ had _ a little sister. I was meant to be taking care of her, but instead I resented her, and I drove her away, and then she was gone, and I can’t ever get her back but I can try to take down the people who took her from me, and I can stop other families from being torn apart like we were.”

Ohya reached out and took her hand, unable to express how sorry she was in words. She knew how she’d felt, after Kayo had vanished, how empty any words had sounded. She knew how ruined she still felt, how her grief was all twisted up with uncertainty, how on her worst days she convinced herself there was still hope.

The Lady squeezed her hand, and Ohya said, semi-jokingly, taking her hand back, “I can look away so you can wipe your eyes, if you’re crying under there.”

“I’m fine, but thank you,” she said, and her voice was only a little bit shaky. “Can I go back on the record now?” She waited for Ohya to resume recording, and then said, “I’m not going to stop. I don’t care how many people they send after me, I’m not going to stop. I’m coming for them, for everyone who thinks they can lie and cheat and hurt people to get what they want, and I’m going to make it right.” She hesitated, and then: “Is that enough information? For your story?”

“Oh, that’s plenty,” said Ohya, already planning out her pitch to her editor, her minding spinning with potential first sentences to the article that she was going to write. “Thank you. I owe you. So much. You have no idea.” She tried to stand up, struggled for a moment as her knees popped audibly. “Made sitting out here all night in the cold worth it.” She offered the Lady a hand to help her stand as well, before realizing that her injury might make that difficult. “Sorry, are you gonna be okay getting home? Or wherever it is you’re going to?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, taking Ohya’s hand with the hand not attached to her wounded arm and pulling her upright. The Lady was doing most of the work, but Ohya liked to think she was being at least a little bit helpful, and she carefully didn’t let herself think about why she was so sorry when the Lady released her hand. “What about you? You’ve been out here so long in the cold, do you have far to go?”

“Not too far,” said Ohya, lying, as she tried to weigh the pros and cons of just walking home, or waiting around the station for the earliest train, assuming she could even afford that.

“Do you want a warmer coat?” she said, starting to hold her own coat out to Ohya. “I’m warm enough in this, and without the mask I’ll just look like someone who went jogging before work.” And then, before Ohya had a chance to process the offer, let alone respond to it, she said, “Wait, sorry, I forgot about the bullet hole. And the bloodstains. Maybe you wouldn’t want that.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass,” Ohya said. “Not really my style. But thanks anyway.”

“If there’s anything I can do to thank you for,” she gestured at her shoulder, and the hopefully passable job Ohya had done of cleaning it up.

“You saved my job,” said Ohya. “That’s more than enough. Besides, you’re doing good work, you know? You’re doing what I should be doing. Well, maybe not exactly that. I never learned kickboxing or anything. I’ll get your story out there, though. That’s something I can do.”

“Thank you,” she said, seriously, and she was still hesitating, not walking away, like there was something more she wanted to say.

“Well,” said Ohya, impulsively, “if you think of anything else you wanna say, on the record, off the record, whatever, give me a call.” She fumbled with the zipper on her camera case for a moment before finding a business card that wasn’t too badly folded. “Or if you wanna call me for any reason, doesn’t have to be about work, go right ahead.” And she pressed her card into the Lady’s hand and threw her a wink, just for good measure.

“I will,” she said, tucking the card into an inner pocket of her jacket, which she then put on, a bit stiffly but without visibly reopening her wound which Ohya counted as a success. “I mean, uh, I’ll, thank you.”

“Anytime,” said Ohya. “My name’s Ohya, by the way. Ichiko Ohya. Which I guess you could find out from my card anyway.”

“Nice to meet you, Ichiko Ohya,” she said, sounding like she really honestly meant it, which wasn’t a reaction Ohya was used to getting recently. She reached out again to shake Ohya's hand formally, like this was a job interview but didn't give her own name in return. Ohya hadn't really expected her to. She wouldn't have printed it but it would've been nice to have a slightly more personal name to put to her idle daydreams about women with silver hair and steady hands. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Hopefully in slightly better circumstances,” Ohya said, and the Lady laughed, hand still clasped with Ohya's. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad I met you and all but I kinda don’t want to repeat this. Gonna take days to feel warm again.”

“I’ll try not to get shot again,” she said dryly. “You should be careful too.” And then she lifted Ohya's hand to her face, bringing Ohya's knuckles to where her lips would be in a pantomime of a kiss, and the surface of the mask was cool and smooth against Ohya's fingers. Ohya wondered what it would feel like to kiss the mask, but more than that she wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss the lips underneath. Nice, probably. Softer and warmer, definitely. And then the Lady let her hand drop, and said, with an embarrassed little cough, "Sorry. Sometimes I forget when I have this thing on."  


"No worries," said Ohya. "There's always next time."

"Next time," she echoed, and then she was gone, vanished into the shadows, and Ohya was left alone, standing numbly in a dark alleyway with a deadline to meet, an article to write, and a burning curiosity that had nothing to do with the story.

**Author's Note:**

> "how is Sae fine already even though she just got shot?" you may ask. the answer is she's a superhero and we're using that set of unrealistic genre conventions it's fine she's fine don't worry about it
> 
> title from Spectrum by Florence + the Machine
> 
> say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/selkie_au_lover) where I talk about women kissing
> 
> if I ever do more with this AU it's gonna be about how Akiren and Makoto and Goro are actually alive, sorry for immediately undercutting the tragedy that gave Sae her motivation but them all actually being dead for real would make me too sad


End file.
